


Unforseen Disadvantages

by exbex



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bondage, F/M, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sally Donovan has an arrangement with Sherlock Holmes. It's supposed to be simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unforseen Disadvantages

**Author's Note:**

> No S3 speculation.

A Study....

“You’ll be punished for that.” Sally draws the riding crop across the small of Sherlock’s back, then lashes the end across his arse, relishing the sharp intake of breath.

“You can’t stand Anderson. You think he’s a cheating git and you hate it when he hits on you. He won’t do that again. No one heard me say it, and even if someone had, everyone at the Yard who possesses a modicum of intelligence knows that you wouldn’t deign to sleep with Anderson.”

“What about your friend? He was standing right there.”

“He knows the truth; he asked me if I was ‘just being a dick’ as he so eloquently put it.” If Sherlock had had his hands free, he would have used air quotes.

“You think that’s how it works then? That you can just insult my colleagues, drag my name into it, and all will be forgiven?”

“I know it does. You do as well, or you wouldn’t have insulted me to rile me up in the hopes that you would get an opportunity to punish me. And I know you did that on purpose because you’re wearing your favorite outfit for whipping. ” Sherlock turns his head to try to get a look, though his wrists and ankles are so tightly bound to the bed that he has a difficult time of it.

It makes such a pretty sight that Sally rewards him with a harder strike across both buttocks.

Later she watches him button the cuffs of his shirt and shrug into his jacket as she pulls a vest over her head and ties the drawstring of her pajama bottoms.

“This John fellow…” she ventures.

“Hmm?” Sherlock is very purposefully not meeting her eyes.

“Be careful there.”

“Are you afraid that he won’t heed your warnings?” He’s looking at her now. Progress.

“You assume that he’s the one I’m worried about.” She’s erased the space between them, save for half an arm’s length. She reaches out to smooth the lapels of his jacket, the closest they ever get to touching one another. He holds her gaze for a long moment, then gives her a smirk that she wouldn’t be able to see through if she were anyone else. She goes to the window after he leaves and watches him walk away.

John....

John Watson probably doesn’t know that Sally’s testing him when she tells him to find a hobby. He probably doesn’t realize that the looks he gives her in return, the ones that seem bewildered because he’s too polite to tell her to sod off, that’s she’s a raving mad woman, mean that he’s passing the test.

The Woman....

“I didn’t sleep with her.” It’s a small mercy that Sherlock is such a prat that this is far from the first time that Sally has walked in to her flat to find him sitting in her second favorite armchair.

“I know. Even Irene Adler couldn’t get you interested in something as pedestrian as intercourse.” Sally inwardly berates herself; she sounds petty at best, judgmental at worst.

“We only engaged in mind games, Sally. There’s no one else…”

“For a bloody genius, you’re terribly obtuse, Sherlock. You have so much more to lose now, and you’re risking all of it!”

His eyes flash with that mix of resentment and shame that comes from having something revealed that one wishes could stay hidden. “I know.” The ice in his voice can’t cover his feelings. “Why do you care?”

“That’s what people do,” she replies wearily, and she’s puzzled at the look of surprise that crosses his countenance. 

The Fall-prior....

Sally has spent countless hours making Sherlock Holmes beg, but it all seems as if it occurred in some other world compared to the plain pleading in his eyes now.

“You’re sure there’s no other way?” It’s a stupid question, even to her ears, but she can’t help herself.

“I know what I’m asking you to do, Sally, but if there were any other choice….I promise you’ll be protected. Mycroft….”

“I wish it were myself I was worried about.” Her voice is hard, even as it threatens to break. He’s pacing in the small kitchen of her flat, tense, desperate. She’ll do it, of course, If not for him, because it’s right, because it’s the only choice.

The Fall-after....

Of all the times Sally has walked into her flat to find Sherlock sitting in that armchair, she’s felt angry, irritated, smug, amused, aroused, baffled, but she’s never felt this bone-deep weariness, this sadness that she’ll allow to send her sinking to the floor as soon as Sherlock leaves and she locks the door behind him.

She wishes she could hate him, but it would be unproductive at best.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to say thank you.” His hands that had been clutching the arms of the chair in a death-grip loosen, his shoulders slump a bit more, his devastation plain.

“I don’t count.”

“Wrong,” he replies simply as he stands, his eyes meeting hers. They don’t touch as he walks to the door.

“Don’t you dare get yourself killed out there.” She doesn’t have to tell him that she’s not asking him to return alive for her.

Sherlock turns to face her and looks as if he’s searching for the words. She couldn’t have predicted what he actually says. “Take care of yourself, Sally Donovan. Go after what you deserve.”

He leaves and she sits with her back to the door, her head in her hands, and listens to the clock that hangs in her living room, counting each tick until she can breathe again.


End file.
